


Ten Questions

by 8bitavery



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Shameless self indulgent fluff, and character interactions!, this might get bumped up to M, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 20:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10578600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8bitavery/pseuds/8bitavery
Summary: Ficlet sized responses to the "ten questions about the love interest" prompt over on tumblr.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "When was the moment your character first felt something for their love interest?"

Awen leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, silent and watching the ambassador work. She wondered just how long it would take her to notice she was there, so absorbed in whatever she was writing, but Awen was not particularly patient and decided to announce her presence. "Are all shems so quick to trust someone who claims that they were sent by your Maker?" she asked.

Josephine tore her eyes away from the missive with a start, a dainty hand going to her frantic heart. "Mistress Lavellan," she exhaled.

Awen wasn't quite ready to admit that her startled expression was adorable. She played it safe and acted aloof, as if not to notice that she had just scared Josephine half to death. "I haven't done anything, but you all worship me like I've touched by the heavens," she continued.

Having apparently recovered from her fright, Josephine gave an incredulous expression. "You entered the Fade and returned. You have command over the rifts. Forgive me, but most would not call that nothing," she said as if it were obvious. Awen held her tongue and decided not to argue that it was by no choice of hers. Nevermind that she knew nothing about the mark on her hand or how it worked.

She shifted the focus elsewhere instead. "What about you? Do you believe I'm the Herald of Andraste?" Awen practically spat her newfound title with no small amount of distaste. Josephine seemed hesitant to reply, her own religious convictions notwithstanding. Awen had certainly made her opinion on the matter clear.

"I... would like to think so, Your Worship," Josephine said reverently.

Awen pursed her lips and averted her eyes. There it was again. _Your Worship._ She had absolutely no desire to entangle herself in the nuances of human hierarchy, whatever that entailed, and yet there she was, thrust right into the middle of it.

It felt like an insult, the way people addressed her with false politeness forced through their teeth. _Surely the Maker would not send a barbaric Dalish elf to aid us in these perilous times_ , she'd heard whispered between Haven's citizens. And those who truly did believe her to be Andraste's herald were so obviously drowning in their own self righteous piety that it was down right comical. While they waited for her to perform the Maker's next grand miracle, they treated the elven workers like dirt. Their hypocrisies said more to her than their words ever could.

Awen heaved a sigh as she pushed herself to stand upright and brought herself back to the moment. Josephine was watching her curiously.

Josephine...

Josephine was genuine. She wasn't expecting another miracle. She understood that she was only one person. She was always careful to not overstep her bounds, always went out of her way to make sure she comfortable. Her respect, her courtesy wasn't earned, but she gave it to everyone willingly, without needing them to prove themselves.

It made Awen feel like she was worthy of the honorific. Like she was worth more than she really was.

"Awen," she said finally. The ambassador gave her a puzzled look. Awen felt the tips of her ears heat up in the beginnings of a blush as she awkwardly ran her hand through her hair. "You shouldn't– I mean– I would rather you just call me Awen. I'm no herald. Of anyone. Let alone Andraste." Mythal's mercy, was she always this much of a embarrassing, stuttering mess?

"My Lady, I–"

"Please."

There was a pause as Josephine examined her, as if trying to read her intentions, judge her character. Tense under her gaze, Awen shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She didn't much care for being under so much scrutiny. Her face only reddened as she wondered what conclusions Josephine could possibly be coming to.

But then Josephine smiled. "Then, Awen," she said, "you may call me Josephine."

Awen denied herself the indulgent fluttering of her heart, but couldn't help returning the smile.


End file.
